The One That Got Away
by Moment For Life
Summary: Just after the Stock market crash, Caledon Hockley contemplates everything.


**The One That Got Away**

A man's son was supposed to be the most precious thing in one's life. A son to carry on the family name. A son to carry on the family business. A man would raise their boy to be strong, bear no weakness and to never back down. To go for what they wanted and not take no for an answer. Those were the things which Nathan Hockley had passed onto his only son, Caledon during his teenage years and when he had finally become a man; he was everything a well brought up boy should be.

Now, Caledon was forty-nine years of age. Not old by any standards. He had married a well-bred woman, Emily. The Marshall's were another brilliant family from Boston. They specialised in steel also, his father's enthusiasm at the match had at first been contagious but once the familiar turning of the wheel set in, he had been less so. Caledon was taken aback; by feelings which he had thought were long buried, dead and gone. Just like **she** was.

In the spring of 1912, Caledon had previously become engaged to the recently débuted Rose Dewitt Bukater. He was introduced to her at one of her father's parties, they were engaged within the month. Rose had been the most beautiful woman at all of the galas, and she was on his arm. His Father had been impressed by his choice of bride. ''Young enough to breed, wide hips for carrying beautifully, she will give you a mass of sons.'' Caledon had grinned. Yes, she would have. But she hadn't.

When the Titanic had taken her life, Caledon Hockley had secretly spiralled into a pit of depression. He had not spoken to her Mother in fifteen years, deciding that putting her also behind him would do him well. But that wasn't the only thing. She had hurt him, taking another in her bed. Yes, he had been angry, reacted awfully but he had loved her, truly. They had constructed a grave for her, a place for family to mourn even though no body was there. Cal had gone to this place often in his dark times to speak to her, to drink himself to sleep whilst there, unbeknown to anybody. Even after his marriage, even after his kids...

The study of the Hockley residence was silent. It was a small room with a dark oak décor. It was lined with cabinets filled with files, sheets and every important document related to the business. All of which now meant nothing.

Caledon Hockley sat at the desk where he had worked from for the last fifteen years. His father had sat in the very seat some fifty years previous conjuring up a business plan which had gone on to become Hockley steel; one of the biggest steel companies in the country. His father's death fifteen years previous had ensured his survival for the rest of his life. He had inherited millions. The year later, his first child had been born quickly followed by three more each year after that. Three boys and the first bore a girl, a beautiful girl who was the epitome of pure beauty. Her jet-black curls, her large blue eyes and the pale translucent skin of her mothers. His wife, Emily had been a shy girl but she was a pure girl, with a good heart. Just what he had needed at that time. She had borne him the sons he had needed to carry on the family business; that much she was good for. But it had been his daughter Abigail, who had affected him the most. He saw her innocence and purity and as he had cradled her through her early years he had learned just what true love was. It was during these years his mind had cast back to Rose. His first love, the woman he had truly cared for. He hadn't treated her well, he knew that much. Her death had been the topic on everyone's lips for years after the tragedy. He had never forgotten her, his guilt riddled body just wore on living with the hurt which he had caused.

That time felt as though it was coming around again, he had failed Rose and now he would fail his family, his daughter. The Stock market crash had affected the business, more than he had let on to his family. His elderly mother sat comfortably looked after by maids and under constant watch due to her dementia but she still lavishly lived. His wife, who had never asked for anything but he had given her everything; all of the jewels, luxury and travel for she had given him three heirs and his daughter.

He couldn't help but think if these children had been given to him by Rose, if he would have been happier. Perhaps he would have stopped drinking years ago, perhaps he would never have taken others into his bed. They could have grown older together.

''You need to produce fine boys, Caledon. Fine, handsome young men who will represent this family and give life to more boys to carry on this family name.'' His father's words had been. The pressure had been constant after Rose to find another suitable wife, a mother for his children. Nathan had not lived to witness his daughter's birth and he was glad, for he would have been disappointed in his only son. Girls turned into whores, they needed training and they brought shame to the family but boys would turn into fine young men. That was the bigger picture. Nathan's words to his own wife had been if a daughter had been born, he would have ''drowned her at birth.'' They had one child together, Caledon. His own Mother had been too scared to bare another child for fear of having a girl.

On the desk sat pictures of those fine boys, aged twelve, eleven and ten. A larger picture of his daughter who was now fourteen and soon she would be preparing to leave school and court young men, finding a suitor eligible to become her husband. No man would ever be good enough for his precious girl. He hysterically pushed the picture onto the floor and heard it smash into pieces. He couldn't bear knowing his daughter's eyes were watching his demise. He felt the anger build up inside, he smashed his fists into the wood but not even feeling the pain. Empty brandy bottles cluttered the room and cigar butts littered the floor. He flung open the top drawer of his desk and found a half drunk bottle, shaking he opened the lid discarding of it across the room and brought the liquor to his lips. He downed half of it, feeling the numbness kick in and the pain subside. He dragged the drawer out to find clippings of all sorts mostly of his time with Rose; their engagement announcement, the Titanic sinking and her death. She, she was the one who had got away. The one he had thought of all of these years. Now his own daughter was almost the age Rose had been when they had become engaged. He shook his head violently. No man was ever going to take his little girl to bed.

The pictures of Rose in the papers were like tiny cuts to his throat, over and over. He felt the lump there and he refused to swallow it. What good would it do? He ripped the pictures, all into tiny pieces and began to feel his temper again. He ransacked the room, every award ever won, every document ever wrote out. He threw them all onto the floor creating one big mess. He stopped when he caught glimpse of himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. His hair was greying, the lines which had grown around his lines and the way his eyes had sunken in. He was his father's double and his boys were growing more like him every day. He hated his own existence. He couldn't even look at his own reflection. With one swift pull, the large mirror crashed to the floor with his own blood leaking onto the glass. Cuts covered his hands but he ignored their stings. He found his brandy once again, he downed the rest as he felt the continued burning. He found his way to the chair behind the desk again. His name tag sat on the desk _Caledon L. Hockley,_ he laughed pathetically. He glanced down at his own suit, black in colour. The colour of his soul. The colour of his heart. He had lost everything he had built. He was a failure. He had no reason to live. He had only ever wanted _her..._

 _''So, who's the beauty Caledon?'' Nathan had watched his son with his eyes on the red head girl._

 _''Rose Dewitt Bukater, daughter of the late Robert. And, she sure is a pistol father.'' His eyes had twinkled, more so than ever before._

 _Nathan laughed. ''But can you handle her?''_

 _''Of course. I thrive on a challenge. Taming a beauty like her will not be so difficult.''_

But it had been. She had never been tamed. She refused to be. She had other ideas, other things to do and he knew after her death just how much he had stopped her. He had ideas for her; she was to marry him, in front of hundreds, they would honeymoon in exotic land and then he would return to run the business and she would bear their children. Rose's place was at home, with the children. She would attend the country club, the writing clubs, indulge in the odd art gallery, the odd book and would certainly keep her opinions to herself at galas. None of which she did. She had infuriated him and yet that was part of his passion for her. But he had failed her.

He pulled out the bottom drawer, knowing what it held. He didn't even shake as he held the cold silver gun in his hand. He knew what to do for he had shot a gun on many occasions. He didn't even close his eyes as he raised the gun to his head; he opened his mouth tasting the coldness, the metallic coldness.

His mind fell in those moments to his sons, the ones he had bore but cared very little about, they didn't need him, he thought of his daughter, who would grow without a father, without knowing just how much he loved her...then, his final thought fell on Rose. He contemplated life beyond this place and whether or not a higher place existed where she could be. He laughed at himself.

He knew there was only one bullet left in his gun. He didn't even hesitate as he squeezed the trigger.


End file.
